


14 Years in St. George's Service

by ricochet



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-30
Updated: 2009-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the <a href="http://getsome.oxoniensis.org/">GK Porn Skirmish</a> for the following prompt:<br/><i> Colbert/Fick: Outrageous (likely bullshit) stories of 'how I lost my virginity' are being exchanged, when asked, Nate jokes that he's still a virgin. Brad later corners him and offers to pop his cherry.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	14 Years in St. George's Service

"As I don't wish to intimidate Hasser, Christenson and Rolling Stone into lives of celibacy, or force them into forever feeling inadequate," Brad said, "I'll keep that information to myself."

Walt cut in with a grin on his face before Ray could answer. "Don't worry about me, Brad. It's been too late for that since I was fifteen."

"Last week?" Christenson said, and Hasser threw a pack of charms at him. Christenson knocked the candy away into the gloom of the cigarette factory.

By this point in the conversation Espera had claimed his first experience at the age of fourteen, in the back seat of a classic mustang with a seventeen-year-old honours student who wanted to piss off her father. Rudy extolled the virtues of his martial arts instructors daughter, who, aside from being the best endowed Asian woman on the planet, was also a tantric-yoga protégé, and Ray had been forbidden to speak on the grounds that the human mind was not meant to contain some images.

"Brad, that's shameful." Ray ignored Walt and Christenson in his apparent ongoing quest to make Brad's life difficult. "Not only are you too much of a prude to hear about a young man sneaking into the back room of a peepshow parlor to spend his first time with his face between tits as big as his head, you're going to pussy out on telling your own cherry picking tale? I'm appalled, Brad, appalled and very disappointed."

Brad just looked at him. It was a tactic he had used with a roughly 78% success rate in the past.

"Fine," Ray said and picked a new target. "You won't let me down, right, LT?"

Brad looked at the LT, who was carefully hiding a smile in the curl of his fingers around the mug of coffee Rudy had given him. His face was composed and his voice was calm. "Corporal, as I was dedicated to the service of St. George at the age of nine and am as pure now as I was that day, I have no such tale to share. Briefing tomorrow morning at 0800. Good night, Gents." He put the empty cup back into Rudy's slack hand, and walked away.

"So that's it," Ray said after three seconds of bewildered silence. "He's the only officer who hasn't been fucked stupid yet."

~~

 

It had to be a lie, of course. It should have been an easy comment to forget, just one more piece of bullshit flying through the air with the bullets and the orders, but for two days it circled through Brad's head like a song on repeat. Ray's sudden Madonna fixation was no help.

The trouble with thinking about it had nothing to do with Fick's success in the pursuit of pussy. Brad did not for a second believe that someone somewhere hadn't knocked the LT to the floor and tried to ride him through it. He had it on good authority that Ivy League girls were a special kind. The trouble was that thinking about it started Brad wondering what Fick had done beyond the basic shove, thrust, come. He turned his thoughts forcibly away from considering the likelihood of Fick eating out some dark eyed co-ed and found himself wondering instead if the Lieutenant had ever had a tongue up his ass. Distracting himself with the clusterfuck of occupation worked, but never for very long. There was too little to do, and too much being done wrong, and too often in the middle of it there was Fick turning his notebook in his hands and sending Brad into further contemplation of his fingers. The more Brad considered the more there was for him to wonder about. Remnants of the naïveté the invasion had mostly ground out of him had Brad convinced that whatever Fick had done before OCS he'd been a gentleman about it, and probably had considered girl-on-top the height of adventurous perversion.

After the park, when Fick kept them out of the fire, and looked up at Brad's avowal of trust with bruised eyes and exhausted confidence, Brad spent the rest of the night wondering what kind of sounds would come out of that mouth when it was slack with pleasure and bruised to match. He palmed his cock through his pants and eventually dropped off to sleep imagining the feel of Nate's shoulder blade under his teeth. When he woke up the next morning Brad decided the unfortunate condition of his LT was one situation in this shitpile that he was going to unfuck. Metaphorically speaking.

The soccer stadium was not the best place for Brad to undertake his self-assigned mission, but it was what he had to work with. He'd done more with less and while he spared a thought for the unoccupied offices in two of their previous billets he wasn't going to let it influence his timetable. It all came together with unexpected ease when Gunny Wynn set himself the task of babysitting both his and Poke's kids, and Nate walked off with a nod and a clipboard of paperwork. Left to his own devices the LT had gotten very good at finding time and space mostly alone, and he appeared on the way to do that exact thing when Brad fell into step half-a-pace behind him. He gave Brad a nod of acknowledgment over his shoulder, but didn't speak. Brad nodded back, and smiled to himself when Nate stopped looking; that mute acceptance of his presence struck him as a promising beginning.

He followed Nate down five different hallways, and they ended up in a small office that had seen far better days. There was a stack of papers on the cheap desk, and Nate deposited the clip board on top of it before he turned to face Brad. "What did you need, Brad?"

"Sir, I was hoping to speak with you regarding the situation you were discussing with the platoon at the beginning of the week."

Nate glanced down and his eyes seemed to get caught on the paperwork he had brought in with him. "I can't really speak to why we're so far off the briefing we were originally given, Brad."

Brad shook his head. "Not that situation, Sir. The one under discussion the night before the mission."

"The night before?" Nate frowned slightly as he thought back. "What-oh. I don't think that particular situation needs to be addressed any further," he said.

"Respectfully, sir, I disagree completely." Brad took a step closer as he spoke. It was a very small room all things considered, so one step was all Brad needed to put himself inside the bubble of Nate's personal space.

"Really," said Nate. He didn't move away.

"That you've got some with us in battle but failed completely to do so on libo confuses the men, sir. Allowing such a detriment to morale would be irresponsible, especially as the unfortunate condition in which you find yourself is easily rectified." Nate was looking up at him with sharp, clear eyes, and Brad could feel his breath high on his throat. Brad leaned down just a little more, "Sir, after fourteen years, St. George has had first claim more than long enough."

Nate tipped his head back a fraction of an inch. It put his mouth in very easy reach of Brad's own, and clearly displayed the emergence of the smile curving his lips. "As you've given me nothing but sound council since our arrival here, Brad, I'm willing to hear you out. How exactly are you planning to unfuck this unfortunate situation?"

Brad's own grin felt just a little smug. "Thought I'd start off simple, sir, and run my tongue over your mouth. Get a little taste to start off, and then see about chasing your pulse up your throat." Brad raised a hand and brushed a light fingertip over the route he was planning to take. "I'd listen for any sound from you, out of respect for your inexperience of course, and once you started making them I'd work my way back to your mouth," - he trailed his finger along the line of Nate's jaw, and let it come to rest on the bottom curve of his smile - "and lick my way inside to keep you quiet."

"Hmm, intriguing," Nate replied. Nate nipped gently at Brad's finger and grinned unrestrainedly. "Keep talking," he said, and sank easily to one knee. They were standing so close his chest and belly dragged against Brad.

Every word in Brad's extensive plan of attack was suddenly beyond his ability to recall as Nate curled long fingers tight around his hip and started tugging open his cammies. "You," Brad started, and had to stop again as Nate succeeded in getting his fly open and leaned in to breathe hot against the tight fabric of his briefs where it stretched over his cock. His eyes may have rolled back in his head. "Shit."

"You were keeping me quiet, I think you said," Nate coaxed.

His voice was amused and composed, and for one bright second Brad hated him utterly. He looked down to say something, and lost his voice completely. Nate looked up at him with hot eyes and parted lips. He had one hand wrapped around Brad's hip tight enough for Brad to feel it bruising through his pants, and the other curled into the waistband of his briefs. The slightest forward motion of Brad's hips would press his cock along the line of Nate's cheekbone. Brad swallowed twice, and his voice still sounded rough to his ears. "You're skipping ahead, sir."

"We'll come back to it," Nate said, and pulled Brad's briefs out of the way. "Keep talking, Sergeant."

"I'd keep working at you with my tongue until your lips started to go numb. You'd still be making noise. I'd make sure you couldn't help it, because every time you tried to pull back and get a breath I'd bite," Brad fumbled the next word as Nate licked over the head of his cock first with the flat of his tongue and then licked his way into the slit with just the tip of it. He had worked his hand further back to cradle Brad's sac against his fingers and he was stroking gently with his thumb. "Bite you on the mouth just a little. Then suck at the marks."

Nate murmured something that might have been "good" and took the head of Brad's dick into his mouth.

The wet heat of it made Brad think incoherently of jungles while he strangled a gasp in his throat and tried to remember what he had wanted to say. "I wouldn't let you keep your mouth free. I've been thinking about it too long." Brad had really not meant to say that last part, but Nate was working his tongue back and forth and clear thought was getting more difficult to hold on to. "I'm going to put my hands all fucking over you," Brad promised, "under your shirt, and down your abs to your pelvis and back - back up. Down your back, and over your ass, and wrap my hand around the back of your thigh. Get your pants open, but not put my hand inside. I won't touch your cock until you're sure." He stopped to pant, and moaned when he realized how far down his cock Nate's lips were sinking. "You should always be sure your first time," he choked out.

Nate hummed agreement around him, and swallowed him further down. There could not have been more than two inches still outside his mouth.

"Fuck, yes." Brad's legs shook, and he let his hand drop to Nate's shoulder to keep his balance. "I'd stroke you all over until you're fighting my hands to get them where you want them. Get you rocking for it, then pull you in and let you go against my leg between your thighs." The words were coming faster now, and less controlled. It was not babbling yet, but Brad knew it was close and getting closer. "Kiss your jaw and your mouth and your throat, and scrape your nipple with my thumb. Do it again and again, and just on one side. Scrape you tender so you can think about the difference when I'm done and you're buttoned up again."

Nate fucking groaned. It unstrung Brad's spine and his knees started to buckle. He flailed out a hand and caught the edge of the desk. In the same moment, Nate let go of his hip and wrapped his arm around the back of his thighs and shifted on his knees to press against the length of Brad's legs.

There was no way for him to rock into the pleasure now, and nowhere to pull away from it. It backed up in his throat, building low in his belly, and wired in every limb. Brad ground his teeth and fought back the crest of it; like hell he wasn't going to finish this. "You, you'd be desperate. Finally touch you, two fingers up the underside of your cock and you'd shake from it. Not used to someone else's hands, but you'd, fuck, push for more. Wouldn't back down, not from this." Brad gasped in another lungful of air and didn't give a shit when his voice came out hungry and moaning. "Keep you thinking about your cock with my thumb on the head. Cup your ass with my other hand, let my fingers ride into the crease to start you thinking on that. Fuck, close."

Shock like lightning ripped through him when Nate pressed two dry fingers against the thin skin behind his balls. Brad swore and shook and said, "now, fuck, please." He looked down and shifted his grasp on Nate's shoulder until he could press his thumb against the column of his throat.

Nate looked up at him, his lips wrapped tight and slick around the base of his cock, and swallowed.

White light went off behind Brad's eyes like exploding ordinance. Sound and scent and the heat of Nate's body pressed against his legs all burned away in a sear of pleasure, and Brad didn't know if he was still making noise but he didn't care.

He felt Nate pulling off as a change in temperature while tremors and aftershocks were still running over him like current. He thought he felt a kiss pressed into the cut of his pelvis where the muscle blended into his hip, before his pants were tugged back into place. But he was too out of it to be sure. He blinked a couple of times, slowly, to clear the starbursts from his vision, and when he opened his eyes Nate was right in front of him. Brad just stared at him, took in the hot-bright eyes and the swollen obscenity of his mouth.

Nate was breathing hard, and Brad could see his tongue tracing over the inside of his bottom lip over and over. Brad was still watching as Nate opened his own pants, and shoved them down just out of the way. He wrapped the long, clever fingers of one hand around himself and started to stroke rough and quick. Brad watched his hand slide up and down over the flushed skin of his cock with something like fascination, want thick on his tongue. Nate's other hand was gripping the edge of the desk, less than the width of a fingernail between Brad's pinkie and his thumb. Brad looked up and Nate was watching him even as his eyes started to lose focus. He reached out with the hand that was marked with the seam of Nate's blouse, and laid three fingers on the inside curve of Nate's wrist as he worked his cock.

Nate made a sound in his throat, something desperate and almost hurting, and grabbed Brad's forearm. Two more strokes and he came all over his hand and Brad's wrist. His eyes rolled back before they slammed shut, and he shuddered hard enough to shake the desk behind him.

By the time Nate opened his eyes and grinned at him again, Brad was feeling alert enough to smirk right back. He also noticed a smear of something dirty-white at the corner of Nate's mouth. It sent a flash of heat through his chest, and he had to lean in slowly.

Nate saw him coming, but he only raised an eyebrow a little, and then smiled as Brad licked the come off his face.

Brad had to lick the smile too. "All squared away, sir?" he said, with his lips against the fine stubble on Nate's jaw. He felt it before he heard it when Nate laughed in response.

"Well, I'm feeling a great deal more relaxed than I was."

"We can work on the rest," Brad murmured into his throat. He was not purring, or nuzzling his lieutenant, and even if he were no one would ever know.

Nate pushed him back far enough for eye contact. Meeting his gaze, oddly, felt no more charged than it ever had. "If the point of this exercise was to do things I've yet to do we are shit out of luck."

"Excuse me?"

"I am not going to try fisting you without lube, Brad, and I refuse to be tied up with zip-strips and left with a vibrator in my ass in the middle of a military camp. Also we currently have no honey available."

Brad thought about an appropriate response for roughly .75 seconds. "We can work on that," he said with a grin.


End file.
